


Indistinguishable From Magic

by longwhitecoats



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agender Character, Electrical Play, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I desire you,” Thor says, voice rough. He reaches up to caress Vision’s face. Vision’s skin seems to crackle with electricity, and the touch stings his fingers, not unpleasantly. “Do you desire me also?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indistinguishable From Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepsix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepsix/gifts).



Thor finds Vision in the woods, following the light of the jewel as it glows softly among the pale trees.

“It is finished, then,” says Thor, seeing the remains of Ultron’s last physical body scattered at their feet. It’s not really a question, but he looks to Vision’s face anyway to see what the reaction will be.

Vision is watching him so intently, so—Thor has no better word for it than _lovingly_. It reminds him of the way Jane looks at him, but less cautious, less complex. Vision’s feet hover above the ground, toes dragging softly over fallen leaves, as if Vision had simply forgotten for a moment to adhere to the laws of gravity.

“It is finished,” Vision says, sounding sad. And then— “I hope that does not mean you will leave me.”

Leave _me_ , Thor hears, not leave _us_. He smiles helplessly.

“Not yet,” he says. “Shall we walk the field?”

*

They walk the perimeter of the battlefield, keeping to the trees as they survey the ruins of war. Thor feels his blood begin to race as he smells acrid smoke on the wind, molten metal, the vibrant traces of Wanda Maximoff’s power still settling and seeping away into the ground. He suspects, too, that his blood is roused by the feeling of Vision next to him—not even touching him, and yet suffusing the very air he breathes with warmth, life, and thoughtfulness. Thor shivers. He has always feared and loved magic.

Rescue ships pass overhead, hunting for those left behind. Thor looks to Vision, and they share an expression: the search is worthy but futile. No humans could have survived the final crash.

Thor suddenly feels a great weight settle on him, and he begins to cry.

“My friend,” Vision says gently. “You are weeping.”

“For the innocent fallen,” Thor says. “Among my people, such grief is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It was not my inclination to be ashamed of you,” Vision says, with a tone of surprise. “Rather, I would comfort you, if that were possible, but I do not know how.” Even as Vision says this, however, Thor sees Vision’s eyes flicker, settling into a distant, blank stare; the expression reminds him strongly of Heimdall’s watchful gaze, and he thinks that Vision is looking inward to some knowledge stored there.

Then Vision’s eyes widen, and the gem glows brighter, and Thor wonders if Vision _does_ know how Asgardian warriors comfort one another after battle.

Thor steps closer, his cheeks still wet with tears, and Vision’s lips part.

“Let us go deeper into the forest,” Thor says, reaching out his hand.

Vision takes it, swaying slightly, as if inebriated. “Yes.”

Thor wraps his arm around Vision’s waist. He is surprised, and then quietly thrilled, to feel Vision do the same.

They fly together into the wood.

*

When they alight in a clearing, the long shadows of afternoon are stretching over the ground. Thor allows Vision to lay him down softly in the grass. Vision kneels over him, face perfectly blank and clear.

“You made me,” Vision says. Vision’s irises are intricately patterned, like a tapestry in Odin’s mead-hall. “I feel you in my innermost places.”

Thor blushes, his whole body growing hot. He does not know if it is wrong to desire this elegant, powerful, gentle being, but he feels the increase of his want and knows he must speak.

“I desire you,” Thor says, voice rough. He reaches up to caress Vision’s face. Vision’s skin seems to crackle with electricity, and the touch stings his fingers, not unpleasantly. “Do you desire me also?”

Vision’s whole body increases in heat, and that scent of warmth and energy which Thor sensed earlier now surrounds them, as if they are cocooned in an electrical storm. _Ozone_ , Thor remembers; that was Jane’s word for the smell.

“Yes,” Vision says. “I desire you. I want to pleasure you and be pleasured by you. I came here with you for that purpose.”

That’s all Thor needs. He surges upward and kisses Vision intensely, wetly, and the feeling is like a bolt of lightning. He feels the wind picking up around them, the trees beginning to whistle and the air to thicken. Vision makes no sound, but Thor feels hands pulling at the stays of his armor, unclothing him with strength and care.

“Ah,” he gasps, as Vision’s hand touches the bare skin of his back. He is trembling with excitement. “Please, I want to—” He does not finish; Vision seems to understand. With a shimmer, the cloak and armor that have separated Vision’s body from Thor’s simply vanish, and then they are lying together, skin to skin.

“Yes,” Thor growls. He spreads his thighs so that Vision can fit between them. Their hands are on one another’s faces, and they kiss deeply, causing Thor’s lips and tongue to sting and tingle with electric charge. His skin feels so alive, every inch of him sensitive to the velvet touch of Vision’s body, the forceful grind of Vision’s hips against his. He arches up against his lover, and for a moment, he thinks of other battlefield trysts—Sif, fierce and powerful, her blood still on her lips as she kissed him; Heimdall, yielding and passionate, his cries echoing across the nine realms; Volstagg, laughing as Thor laid him down. He gives himself over to his lust now, just as he always has, the thread of desire pulling him away from his grief.

Then Vision touches the gold gem to Thor’s forehead, and a bolt of magical energy surges through Thor’s body, and he stops. Vision does too, immediately, all motion ceasing between and around them both.

Thor breathes, unable to speak.

Vision’s irises oscillate. “I’m sorry,” Vision says. “I’ve upset you.”

“That was magic,” Thor says, panting.

“It was. I thought you had been enjoying it.”

Thor leans his head back on the ground, staring up at the cloud-heavy sky. He cannot deny that this is part of his attraction to Vision—the marriage of everything he has hated and feared about Asgard and Earth both, all the might of technology and magic, along with everything he loves and values about both those realms. Vision— _his_ vision—is the embodiment of a dream Thor thought impossible. To have that dream made flesh is terrifying. To have Vision _care_ for him, watch him and learn how to please him, is overwhelming. He feels a knot in his stomach, a twist of fear he has not felt in a long time.

And yet—Vision lifted Mjölnir.

Thor leans up and kisses Vision once, sweetly. “I have never understood magic,” he says. “Jane does. My brother did. I do not. I have feared its power.”

Vision’s eyebrows lift; it’s a sad expression. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Yes.” Thor runs his fingers over Vision’s forehead, tracing but not touching the gem. “I am afraid of you. That is partly why I desire you.” Vision shudders. The gem is very sensitive, it seems.

“But you were worthy to lift my hammer,” Thor says, suddenly intense. He must make Vision understand. “No other Avenger has done this. No other warrior on Asgard has done this. When I give my body to my friends—it is with love, and courage, but I give only my body. But to you—”

Vision turns slightly, so that Thor’s fingers slip over the gem, and they both gasp. It is like the icy rush of traveling the Bifröst, and like the pinnacle of pleasure, and like the mechanical thrum of the helicarrier.

“You give so much more,” Vision murmurs, and Thor nods, unable to find his voice. “Yes, you do. And that is what you desire.” Vision grips Thor fiercely by the arms, almost painfully hard. Thor groans in pleasure. “To be made to give.” Vision nudges Thor’s legs further apart, rolling against Thor’s hips. Vision’s thighs are wet. “To be known.” Vision kisses him then, and a shock of electricity runs between them, more powerful than before. Then another shock hits as Vision presses Thor’s mouth open—and another—and—

Everything Thor can see flashes white for an instant, and he realizes he is crying out, his body quaking with the rolling succession of shocks. It is like and unlike the lightning he calls; it is sharper, cleaner, each prick of energy distinct and disparate, as if carefully woven by a deft, deliberate hand. He feels himself sweating with fear even as desire pounds through his blood. Vision’s hands are caressing him, clutching him, and he realizes hazily that they are floating in midair, energy crackling around them.

“Open for me,” Vision says, slipping a thumb into Thor’s mouth. Thor sucks, feeling the current humming on his tongue. “Only for me...”

They rotate in space. A breeze picks up Thor’s hair, wafting it over them like a veil. Vision’s other hand slips between their legs, and Thor moans, his mouth full. He feels heat, and wet, and then suddenly he is enveloped, constricted by something tight, and he tries to cry out.

Vision grasps his buttock, fingers digging into the flesh, encouraging Thor’s thrusts as their hips begin to move together. With each movement, a new wave of heat and moisture rolls over them, until Thor opens his eyes to see that they are ringed by clouds, each sparking and flashing as lightning jumps between them.

“Yes,” Vision says, rocking down onto Thor. “Yes, oh—”

Thor reaches his hand down to the place where they are joined and finds Vision’s flesh liquid, like mercury, burning his fingertips as he begins to press and rub. Vision makes a thrumming, whirring noise, a vibration in the throat that seems to ripple through the clouds around them.

“Thor,” Vision cries, “Thor, I—” and then there is an explosion of light all around them, a mighty crack like the breaking of the Bifröst, and suddenly the clouds burst into rain.

“Yes,” Thor hears himself saying, thrusting and pulling roughly at Vision, “Yes—” he growls, his lust spiking as the rain washes over him. He kisses Vision so hard that his lip splits open against Vision’s teeth, and he savors the metallic taste of his own blood. “Vision—my—Vision—”

The moment of his pleasure seems endless, riding an electric tide into a vast golden glow.

His back is to the earth. It is raining.

Vision kisses him again and again, and Thor can do little but tremble with the aftershocks of pleasure. The rain calms him, cools him, and he thinks he sees steam rise from Vision’s shoulders as the water meets superheated skin.

At last, they lie still in the grass, thighs becoming sticky with mud as the rain rushes down. Everything smells of the greenness of the world.

“Thank you,” Vision says. Thor leans over and plants a kiss on Vision’s forehead, next to the gem.

“I will miss you,” Thor says.

Vision looks at him. “You’re leaving.”

_Leaving_ , Thor notices, not leaving _me_. He smiles.

“Yes,” he says. “But wherever I go, you will always be welcome too.”

Vision leans against his chest. They sleep. When Thor wakes, he sees that the last of the unnatural rain has left a rainbow in the forest air.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to pearwaldorf and toft for looking this over! I hope you like it, V :DDDD


End file.
